You Kissed Him
by Houseketeer
Summary: Warnings: Smut. Post ep for 3x16, so beware of canon moments and icky ChaseCameron.Summary: Established HouseCameron relationship. Smutty oneshot.


**You Kissed Him**

Tonight when Cameron walks into House's office to drop some paperwork on his desk, the blinds are drawn. _Ah. This again._ She is unsurprised to hear him rise from his reading chair to close and lock the door she has left open.

Like every time prior, neither of them speaks. But of course every look and touch is a thousand words at least—the unspoken rules are crystally clear. No talking; no kissing, and it **didn't** happen.

Like every time prior, she lies to herself that this time will be the last.

He turns at the door and waits; watches her. She lets some of her annoyance show as she unbuttons her blouse, '_I don't see why it has to be like this.'_

The half shake of his head matches his cocky half smile. '_If you don't like the game, you don't have to play it.'_

She sighs resignedly. He always wins; how could she say no to him. But she wants to make him pay if she can, so she draws it out. She stands in the middle of the room, and strips as slowly as she can. Her blouse slips from her shoulders to the ground; she kicks off her heels. She opens her pants and lets them pool at her feet, then steps out of them. She runs her hands from her neck, over her breasts, and down her flat tummy before bringing them behind her to unfasten her strapless bra, and is gratified to see him touch himself through his pants. She wants him impatient, and she's got it. He's already hard.

According to the rule or custom or precedent or whatever the hell this thing between them is, he's not going to move from where he stands until she's naked. She would like to make him break a rule; break all the rules and kiss her mouth, speak, be with her—love her. Her left hand teases her nipple, while her right hand caresses herself through damp black satin panties. Her eyes are on his, taunting him to move.

He raises his eyebrows and lifts his hand to rest on the doorknob. '_I'll walk right out of here_.' She drops her panties.

He advances, opening his belt as she walks backward and sits on the edge of the desk. Between her thighs, he lowers his pants slightly—she has never seen bare leg. The tip of his cock is already brushing against her. She makes a little face, she's desperate for more touching and she wants his skin against hers. He rolls his eyes, but shrugs out of his button down and pulls his t-shirt over his head.

With no preamble—she doesn't need it—he thrusts into her all the way. She gasps. Her arms wrap under his and she leaves eight perfect fingernail marks on the back of his shoulders, '_More_.' This is why there will **of course** be a next time; he's too fucking perfect at fucking her. She tries to wrap her mind around exactly what it is that makes him **so much better**. It's not what he does really—it's that it's him. That he wants her, takes her. He's irreproducible.

Believe her, she's tried.

She tells herself to stop analyzing. She holds him as close as she can, kisses and sucks at the skin she can reach. He puts up with that about a minute before his large palm is between her breasts, pushing her to lie back against the desk. Now he is gripping her hips and really slamming into her. It's raw and noisy and dirty; she is getting more turned on by the second. The angle is better, and she feels **so close**. He's closer.

She feels his eyes on her skin, feverish where he looks at her. He's gritting his teeth, barely containing some kind of sound, and she wishes she could hear it. She closes her eyes and tries to focus on her own climax, as he is clearly doing. When he grunts and comes, she repeats in her mind, _I made House come, House come, oh god, _and hits the ceiling. She is still reeling from her mind blowing orgasm when he zips his pants and resumes his shirts. He takes his backpack and helmet, and leaves the room.

She lies with her heels hooked on the edge of his desk, knees spread and freshly-fucked. The position alone turns her on. She slides her right hand down her body and touches herself. She is dripping wet from their combined orgasms. In her mind, she runs a constant dirty monologue:

_House fucked me in his office. Fucking House right in his office, touching myself on his desk; anyone could come in. House fucked me so fucking hard, and I came all over his cock. House came inside me. House could come in right now and see me fucking myself, dripping all over his desk. House—I fucked House. House, fucking me. I wish he'd let me suck him off, just once, come in my mouth, or where I could see it. House coming on my belly, on my face. Kneeling in House's office and swallowing his hard cock until he grabs my hair and screams my name._

She comes, unbelievably harder this time. She licks her fingers, sits up slowly then stands. She dresses and checks her watch. She would like to leave his scent on her until morning, but she's meeting Chase in an hour. She heads for the locker room to shower.

oOoOo

She got the idea talking to Foreman. He was blathering on about the benefits of commitment-free sex—_no thanks I already have **that**_—and it occurred to her: why not commitment-free intimacy? She could have Chase on the side. He'd be game for it, and sex with Chase would come with dinners and carpooling and cuddling and kissing. Win-win. House never had to know.

But from the first time Chase touched her, she'd been fantasizing about getting caught. It wasn't the original plan, but she can't help it. Sex with Chase is such a pale ghost of sex with House. Imagine what intimacy with House could be.

Knowing it's unlocked, she turns the doorknob and steps into Chase's living room, surveys it as usual. He chooses his furnishings like he chooses his hair products: better than he needs to impress an audience he doesn't have. "Hey," she calls.

"I'm in the kitchen!"

She's exactly on time, and he puts out two plates of pasta. She recognizes Stouffer's Corner Bistro Chicken Carbonara, $4.75, 22 grams of fat. _At least he put it on a plate._ "Looks good," she says flatly as he kisses her cheek. She would like to enforce 'no kissing' with Chase; she doesn't want him in love with her. But if she's this in love with House without kissing then, it can happen to Chase too. Besides—she has to kiss someone.

She turns to kiss him, being passionate on a fake-it-til-you-make-it basis. She tries to pretend she's kissing House, but his face is too smooth, his grip to soft. She's remembering what kissing House was **actually** like. She shivers at the thought, and Chase thinks it's for him.

After dinner they have sex. It's not terrible; it's not great. Her "Oh, oh," is a dead monotone. He never notices that most every sound she makes is feigned for his benefit; that he rarely gets her there, and then only on accident. She does come tonight, still high off her encounter with House and the prospect of him catching her.

oOoOo

The door closes behind House, and they look at each other.

"Since when does he clean anything up?" Chase looks incredulous.

Cameron just shakes her head.

"I'm going home, do you want to come?"

She shakes her head.

"You alright?"

"Yeah, fine. I just—"

Chase nods. "Call me if you change your mind."

She follows him out of the closet, and watches him enter the elevator. Then she walks to House's office, where she finds the blinds drawn. She locks the door behind her.

She stands in the middle of the room. She's petrified; her breathing is shallow and she's dizzy; her panties are saturated. For the first time his look isn't telling her anything, just silently appraising. She raises her fingers to her top blouse button.

"You kissed him."

She drops her hands to her sides. "Yes."

"On the mouth."

She sighs. "Yes."

"Do you **love** him?"

"No! I—" He cuts her off with a hand gesture. She looks at him with silent contrition. '_No, I love **you**_.' He jerks his chin up fractionally, and she acquiesces to his silent demand that she recommence opening her shirt.

She strips quickly and quietly for him; no nonsense this time. House pushes himself up from the chair and steps aside, indicating what he wants. She kneels on the warm leather and rests her palms on its back. Although she wishes she could see him, this is actually one of her favorites: the angle hits her perfectly and he'll wrap his arms around and touch her breasts, her clit.

She cranes her neck trying to watch him open his fly, but he waits until she looks ahead again. She hears the zip, and thinks _It didn't work, but at least I still have this._ His hands slide down her sides to the curve of her waist, and he grips her there as he enters her.

She rests her elbows on the chair and her head in her hands. She gently grips her hair as she rocks back and forth into his thrusting. She feels him everywhere—his fingers on her clit, his stubble on her back. Unexpectedly she feels his mouth on her neck, and she thinks of the single time they kissed. His tongue. She wants his mouth everywhere on her body.

He comes, and she completely gets off on it, as always: being wanted by him is all she wants. She sighs his name and collapses against the chair back. She feels him adjust her limbs and before she knows what's happened he's sitting in the chair between her straddling nude thighs. His hand cups her cheek and pulls her in to kiss, hard and greedy and deep. She grinds against his lap, staining denim until his hand slides between them to caress her while they kiss.

_Kissing House after he fucks me; his tongue in my mouth and his fingers inside me, making me come again, all over his hand. House's mouth…House wanting me, fucking me, making me come and come and come, dripping down his wrist. House all to myself, kissing me, fucking me all night long in his bed._

When she comes again, he pulls her against his chest and holds her. She never wants to move from this spot, but of course it's a necessity. She savors it a moment; this might never happen again. Then as gracefully as she can, she extricates herself from his arms and bends for her clothes—her first time dressing in front of him and she feels incredibly vulnerable.

When she's on her last button she sees him pick up his backpack out of the corner of her eye. _Fuck! Same as every other fucking time!_ She consciously commands her body not to sigh audibly. She turns to face him and almost knocks the helmet out of his extended hand. She looks at him puzzled, and he shakes it at her gently. "You'll need this."

FIN


End file.
